


Lord of the Soul Eaters

by MethodicalDestruction



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding, Soul Eater
Genre: Character Death, Gore, M/M, Multi, Smut, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MethodicalDestruction/pseuds/MethodicalDestruction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon lives an agonizingly ordinary life in Death City; a Weaponless Meister with friends far more fortunate. However, his luck changes one night when he meets two famous Weapons in need of a Meister. What will the mysterious Weapons have in store for him? (Lord of the Flies x Soul Eater cross over, but you don't need to be familiar with Lord of the Flies to enjoy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord of the Soul Eaters

Chapter 1: Jesse Pinkman and Purple Socks

Every day seemed to go the same. Wake up, shower, eat, wander aimlessly whilst waiting for his friends to get out of school, hang out, go to bed, lather, rinse, repeat. Frankly, at this point, the boy was getting tired of it. Simon Chessler was his name, and because he wasn’t attending school, he had nothing better to do with his time than drape his body over the couch and watch some Breaking Bad.

“I took this vo-tech class in high school, woodworking. I took a lot of vo-tech classes, because it was just big jerk-off, but this one time I had this teacher by the name of... Mr... Mr. Pike. I guess he was like a Marine or something before he got old. He was hard hearing…” Simon sighed as he listened to Jesse Pinkman’s high school anecdotes. He pouted and began to pick the bits of fuzz off the sock on his left foot, unsure of where the right one disappeared to. It was pitiful really; a sixteen year-old boy whom, instead of attending school with his friends, was binge watching Netflix at 3 in the afternoon. He and his friends were lucky enough to reside in Death City Nevada, home to Death Weapon Meister Academy; an Academy built by none other than Lord Death himself as a training facility for Meisters and Demon Weapons alike. However, that’s where Simon was lacking. What’s a Meister without a weapon? Nothing, that’s what. He thought about requesting an audience with Lord Death to obtain assistance in finding a Weapon, but Simon considered himself more of a take charge kind of man. Some charge he was taking now; sprawled out on an old couch with a missing sock, silently admiring the blue eyes of the junkie on the television screen. He’d figure it all out soon, he supposed... you know, _eventually_.

“Yo, Chessler! You home?” Simon barely looked up at the sound of the door opening or the call of his name.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed in acknowledgement, but his eyes were primarily glued to the long, purple string that he was slowly pulling out of his sock. He heard the voice behind him shout in surprise as footsteps approached the back of the couch.

“Chessler, you just scared the _piss_ outta me.” He felt hard knuckles flick the side of his head, and he looked up with a spiritless, albeit slightly irritated expression. “You blend right into the couch! And open the blinds or _something_ ; it’s gloomy as shit in here.” A stream of light polluted the room, and as his eyes began to adjust, Simon could make out the red curls that no doubt belonged to Jack Merridew. The sinewy redhead raised an unamused brow at the tanned teen below him; wrapped in an old blanked with a coil of purple yarn around his fingers. “Really? This is what you with your time? This is the saddest display I think I’ve ever seen.” Simon shrugged.

“You’re home early," he commented halfheartedly, "where’s everyone else at?” Jack didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he swung his legs over the back of the couch without much consideration to where they landed. He let his body fall with them; landing on Simon who groaned in protest, but made no move to scold the redhead who’s head now rested in his lap.

“They’re still at the Academy. Platinum’s got himself into trouble again,” Jack grumbled finally, after finding a comfortable laying position. Simon sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. Platinum, nicknamed for the luster of his blond hair, was the troublemaker of Simon’s little pack of friends. Sure, all the boys had their slipups- especially Jack’s Weapon, Roger, who was always picking fights- but none of them got into trouble like Platinum did. Hand the kid a wet napkin, and within ten minutes, he’ll likely have found a way to commit an atrocity with it. His Meister, Steve, always seemed to find himself running this way and that after his Weapon like a mother hen with a troublesome chick. He often found it hard to blame Platinum however; he really wasn’t the brightest, but boy was he fun to have around.

“What did he do this time?” Jack merely shrugged in response.

“Dunno; I didn’t stick around long enough to find out,” he murmured in response, allowing his body to relax against Simon’s hand, which resided in his hair, massaging his scalp through his thick curls. Jack’s hand, dusted with freckles, moved to the pocket of his green hoodie sweatshirt. In a lot of ways, Jack reminded Simon of a leopard or a jaguar. He was tall and nicely built, and, spread out on the couch with his long legs neatly splayed, he strongly resembled a cat. Freckles covered his entire body; some clustered together in a way parallel to spots. Simon reckoned that Jack came home with a whole nother set of freckles each day. He’d give major kudos to anyone with enough time and patience to sit down and count them all. Lost in his own thoughts, Simon was awoken from his reverie when Jack smacked him in the face with a pamphlet.

“Huh?”

“Here ya go. Merry Christmas.” Jack grinned.

“It’s October,” Simon mumbled, but took the pamphlet nonetheless.

“Christmas in July, then,” came the response below him. Simon rolled his eyes; _'It’s still October'_ coming to mind, but he let Jack have his fun. Eyeing the pamphlet in his hands, Simon began to grin from ear to ear. 'Kyoudai Circus, October 9-12, from 5-9 pm'.

“Kyoudai Circus? _The_ Kyoudai Circus?!” Jack sat up, chuckling at Simon’s reaction.

“Hell yeah! Merry fuckin’ Christmas!”

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas!” Simon laughed, high-fiving Jack in excitement. “Are all the guys going?”

“You know it! They’ll be back anytime now. It’s like an hour away, so they’re cutting it a little too close for my comfort,” Jack muttered. For someone so laid back, Jack was a stickler for being on time. Especially for such a highly anticipated event; the Kyoudai Circus very rarely made appearances around Nevada, let alone the country.

“Don’t worry about it!” Simon reassured him. “We’ll make it. I’ve been waiting my entire life to see this Circus.” To prove his point he stood up and switched the TV off with the remote, the tattered brown blanket falling to his feet. He pulled his dark hair into a small bun and shot a glare at Jack over his shoulder as the redhead snickered.

“It looks ridiculous,” Jack argued, but knowingly to no avail. Simon was stubborn as a bull. Once he found something he liked- his bun, for example- he latched onto it with an iron grip. No hazing from Jack was going to change that.

“Well _I_ like it,” Simon huffed in response, bending down to reach under the table. _So that’s where the other sock went._ Pulling it onto his foot, he turned and headed for the door. Jack stood and followed him, curious.

“Where we goin?”

“Out,” was Simon’s reply as he stuck his feet loosely into his shoes and slipped his phone into his pocket. “If the guys aren’t going to come to us, we’ll just go to them.” Jack nodded in agreement, holding the front door open for his friend. His charm was short lived however, when he decided to open his mouth.

“You know, that bun really does look dumb.” He laughed aloud as he was met with a swift smack to the back of the head. 


End file.
